


A Most Unlucky Accident

by FlyingMachine



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Espionage, Friendship, Gen, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6130006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingMachine/pseuds/FlyingMachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben is captured during a skirmish, along with valuable intelligence. In addition to freeing himself from Robert Rogers, he must ensure that the identities of his spy ring remain a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All hope of preserving order vanished as Ben’s shattered squadron fled across the river in retreat.The skirmish had turned into a rout, with the American infantry outflanked and forced back across the river by the British light dragoons. Ben found himself collecting his errant troops as the British dragoons closed down on them. His throat felt raw from shouting orders. He charged toward the river, clearing the way with pistol and saber. A British trooper drew up next to him, slashing out with his own sword. Ben parried the strike, knocking the rider’s sword away. Ben’s saber opened him up shoulder to hip and the man fell, tumbling from his mount.

The river, though neither particularly wide nor deep, slowed down the retreat as men and horses slipped in the mud on the steep banks. Ben’s horse shied at the fast-moving water, and Ben urged the beast on, cold water soaking his boots. Pistol balls whizzed by his ear, and Ben turned to see several men in green charging down the riverbank, their horses struggling in the churned-up mud. These were not dragoons, but Queen’s Rangers.

Ben drew his carbine and fired, dropping the horse of the rider nearest to him. The man jumped from his injured horse into the river and Ben dug his heels into his own mount’s flanks. He was nearly to the opposite bank when he was grabbed from behind, the unhorsed rider having regained his footing and jumped him. 

The ranger looped an arm around his throat, trying to pull him from the saddle. Ben struggled to free himself, but found the grip around his neck impossible to break. Too late, he saw the glint of a pistol butt in the morning sun. The blow struck him in the temple, beneath the edge of his helmet. His vision blinked out for a moment and his attacker threw his weight sharply to the left, sending them both into the river. Ben landed hard on the rocky river bottom, the impact driving the breath from him. Reflexively, he inhaled a lungful of river water as the ranger’s weight crushed him down.

The ranger dragged him back up to the surface by the collar. Ben gasped for air, choking on water. Stunned and desperate for a clean breath, Ben had no time to duck the man’s meaty fist, and everything went dark.

 

“Christ, he looks awful. You sure he’s alive?”

“Dead men don’t puke that much. Besides, if he was dead, he wouldn’t still be bleeding like that, would he?”

“Guess not. Rogers’ll skin us if we bring him a dead man.”

Voices, accented and sounding very far away, pulled Ben back to consciousness. His head was throbbing, and when he cracked an eye to see where he was, he encountered late-afternoon daylight filtered through a blindfold. He was laying on something hard and Ben recognized the familiar motion of a hay wagon. The wagon jolted violently under him as it ran over a deep rut in the road, and Ben thought he might be sick as the movement sent a spike of pain through his head.

His hands were numb, and when he flexed his fingers he found that his wrists had been bound tightly behind him. A heavy boot caught him on the hip and Ben tried not to flinch, not wanting let his captors know he was awake.

“See? He twitched,” the first voice said. “Not dead.”

 _Yet,_ Ben thought grimly. 

Ben tried to concentrate on his surroundings and discover some clue as to where he was, but the blow to his head and the sway of the wagon made him dizzy. He tested the ropes binding his hands and found the knots hopelessly tight, cutting painfully into his wrists. He shivered, chilled by his damp uniform. The weight of his sword was missing from his hip, and he remembered dropping his pistol when he’d been unhorsed at the river crossing.

Ice settled in Ben’s stomach when he realized that Rogers had captured an additional prize: the dispatches Ben had been carrying in his saddlebags when he’d been unhorsed. He had no doubt that his captured horse would be thoroughly searched and Abe’s letters discovered. Unencrypted, the correspondence would expose his entire chain of agents. Panic closed around Ben’s chest. He cursed himself for his own sloppiness, carrying sensitive intelligence to an advance post. His mistake would now not only cost him his own life, but potentially the lives of his friends as well. He could only hope that the British would not work out the true identities of the spies mentioned in his letters.

Ben swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the present situation instead of agonizing over the possible outcomes of his capture. He wondered where he was being taken; he guessed British headquarters. The men guarding him had mentioned Robert Rogers. Perhaps it was finally time for them to square up their accounts.

The cart hit another bump and Ben’s head smacked the planks, sending him back into oblivion.

 

Ben was woken by a hard kick to his ribs. The pain of the blow brought him back to full consciousness in time to pull his knees up to catch the second kick on his shins instead of his belly. His blindfold was gone, and Ben saw that he’d been brought to a small clearing in the woods, well off the main road. He heard the low murmur of conversation nearby, but couldn’t make out the words.

“Get him up,” someone ordered from behind him, and one of the rangers hauled him to his feet. Ben squeezed his eyes shut as the sudden movement made his head swim, and swallowed down hard on a wave of nausea. 

When he opened his eyes, Robert Rogers filled his vision. He looked exactly as Ben remembered him from that day in the New Jersey forest: clad in a filthy green jacket, cold gray eyes unblinking as he looked over Ben. 

“Go back to camp,” Rogers ordered his rangers. “The Major and I have a private matter to settle.” The rangers’ boots crunched back to the road, leaving Ben alone with Rogers. It had begun to rain, fat drops rattling on dry leaves.

“Major Tallmadge,” Rogers said, circling him. “You’re a hard man to track down.” He drew a pistol from his belt and checked the priming. 

“Perhaps it’s your scouts who are lacking,” Ben said, meeting Rogers’ gaze. Rogers rounded on Ben and kicked his knees out from under him with a vicious swipe, dropping him to the ground. Cold mud soaked into the knees of his breeches. 

“You deserve to hang, boy,” Rogers said. “But I’m a fair man, and I owe you a bullet.” The barrel of Rogers’ pistol touched his nape and Ben shivered. It would be a fitting death for a spy, he thought. The woods around them were dark, silent save for the downpour, and Ben was acutely aware of how alone he was. 

The gun shifted against Ben’s neck as Rogers pulled back the hammer. Ben squared his shoulders and pulled himself up straight. He thought of Caleb, of his friends in Setauket. He hoped they were safe. 

The gunshot shattered the silence of the woods, but didn’t come from behind as Ben expected.

Rogers howled, falling to his knees and clutching at his thigh. Red streaked his breeches. His pistol fell to the dirt next to Ben. Twigs snapped under heavy boots and the second shot dropped Rogers to the ground. He didn’t move, blood spreading across the breast of his jacket. In the dark, Ben couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. Ben struggled to his feet and scrambled for cover, crouching down in the thorny underbrush beside a nearby tree.

“Show yourself!” Ben shouted, wishing he could retrieve the pistol Rogers had dropped. An enemy of Rogers was not necessarily a friend of Ben’s.

“You first,” a familiar voice commanded. Stunned, Ben slid from his hiding place to see Caleb Brewster, holding two pistols and looking down at Rogers’ unmoving bulk.


	2. Chapter 2

“Caleb?” Ben asked, disbelieving. Relief washed over him in a wave so powerful he nearly fell over, light-headed as the adrenaline ebbed away. 

“Hey Tallmadge,” Caleb said, tucking his pistols back into his belt. “We missed you back at camp. Thought I might track you down.” Ben didn’t miss the thread of concern in his casual tone. Caleb closed the distance between them and hugged Ben tightly before pulling back to look him over, holding him gently by the elbows. His grin faded when he saw Ben’s battered face and the state of his uniform.

“You need to sit down,” he said, pulling Ben by the elbow to a fallen log. Ben followed, leaning on Caleb more heavily than he would have liked. Caleb pulled his knife from his boot and sliced carefully through the ropes binding Ben’s wrists. Ben rubbed at the raw marks, glad to finally be free. He hoped Caleb didn’t notice how badly his hands were shaking.

“Easy Tall-boy,” Caleb said gently, squeezing his shoulder. “Just be still a minute. Here, have a sip of this,” he said, pressing his flask into Ben’s shaky fingers. Ben took several swallows. Caleb took his flask back and dripped a little of the spirit onto his handkerchief. He dabbed carefully at the cut on Ben’s temple, cleaning away clotted dirt and blood. Ben hissed at the sting and pulled away, but Caleb held him still with a hand behind his head.

“Caleb,” Ben said insistently. “Caleb, Rogers’ men took my horse.” That wasn’t what he meant to say, but Ben was finding it hard to concentrate. 

“I’m sorry Benny. Probably best to let it go, though,” Caleb said, frowning as he examined Ben’s wound and the bruising across his cheekbone. “We should get you back to camp so the surgeon can look at you,” he said.

“No,” Ben protested. “I had letters from Abe in my saddlebags. Unencrypted letters that use Culper’s name.” Caleb stilled as Ben’s words sunk in. 

“Shit,” he said, taking a long pull from his flask. 

“Caleb, we have to get those letters back,” Ben said, meeting Caleb’s eyes.

“What about him?” Caleb asked, nodding to Rogers’ still form. The Major’s jacket was soaked with blood. Ben doubted he would have survived such a wound. 

“Leave him,” Ben said darkly. “It’s what he would have done for me.”

“Alright,” Caleb said. “Can you ride?” 

“Yes,” Ben said shortly. Caleb nodded and Ben got to his feet. Ben mounted Caleb’s horse, leaving room for Caleb in front of him. Cold rainwater stung in the cut on his temple, chilling him as it trickled down the back of his coat.

“All set back there?” Caleb asked, and Ben wondered how awful he must have looked for Caleb to seem so concerned. “I’ll try not to jostle you too much,” Caleb said, touching his heels to the horse’s flanks.

“Rogers’ men are quartered not far from here,” Ben said. “If we can find out where, I can sneak in and find my dispatches.”

“I’m taking you back to camp,” Caleb said firmly. “Then I’ll get Abe’s letters back.”

“Caleb, we don’t have time,” Ben insisted. “Rogers’ express rider will be delayed by the weather. We need to take advantage of this rain and steal those letters back tonight, before he can send them out with tomorrow’s dispatch.”

“Ben, you can barely stand up straight,” Caleb argued. 

“I’m fine,” Ben snapped. “It’s my fault Rogers stole the dispatches. Abe’s in danger, Caleb. Our other friends are too. When he agreed to spy for me, I promised I would keep him safe.” Caleb brought their horse to a stop at the mention of Abe. 

“Aw shit,” Caleb said, sighing. “That dumb bastard has no idea what we do for him.” He wheeled the horse and headed back to the main road.

“We need a plan,” Ben said, thinking aloud. “Rogers’ men will probably be wondering why he’s not back yet.”

“Probably think he’s still down the road getting drunk off his fat arse,” Caleb said.

“Right, so they’ll likely be careless,” Ben continued.

“So we sneak in,” Caleb said. “They’ll never know we came to visit. That is, if you don’t fall over.”

 

The roads were deserted, dark save for the occasional glow of a public-house lantern. The heavy mud and rain slowed Ben and Caleb considerably, and Ben hoped that any dispatch riders would have delayed their journeys as well.

“Do you know where Rogers is headquartered?” Caleb murmured, just loud enough for Ben to hear.

“No, but you can probably find out,” Ben said. “Stop here.” Caleb pulled up in front of a public house and dismounted.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and disappeared inside. Ben watched the road anxiously, hoping no one traveling through would take note of a lone Continental soldier loitering outside the pub. His uniform was so filthy that he doubted anyone would recognize it in passing, but he still felt conspicuous despite the darkness and pouring rain.

Caleb emerged from the pub what seemed like hours later, flushed in the cheeks and reeking of perfume and smoke.

“Rogers commandeered the big white house down the way,” he said after he mounted up. “If we take the side road, we’ll avoid the patrols.”

 

The large white farmhouse sat well back from the road. The woods gave them good cover as they approached. Caleb got them as close as he could on horseback before they had to dismount. The house was dark, save for the dim glow of the lone sentry’s lantern. The sentry stood by the front door, slouched and leaning against his musket. 

Beside Ben, Caleb reloaded both his pistols before tucking them back into his belt. He unslung the carbine from his shoulder and handed it to Ben. Ben unwrapped the lock and checked the priming, hoping it hadn’t been spoiled by the rain. 

“Wouldn’t want you to have to do without,” Caleb said. “I’ll make sure you don’t need it.”

“Only as a last resort,” Ben said, settling the gun on his back. He felt vulnerable without his own weapons, but he’d lost both his sword and carbine when he’d been captured. 

“I’ll search for Abe’s letters. If we get split up, we’ll meet back at camp,” Ben said. Caleb nodded and pulled his hunting knife from its sheath. They crept to the back of the house, crouched down behind a hay wagon. The back of the house was unguarded, and Ben slipped from his hiding place up to the back door.

The latch opened easily and Ben stepped inside. He didn’t need to look to know that Caleb was right behind him. They’d entered through the kitchen, and Ben could see that the dining room had been turned into a makeshift office, the table covered in papers. He flattened himself against the wall next to the doorway and peeked around the corner, to find the dining room empty. He caught Caleb’s eye, nodding to the front of the house. Caleb winked and turned the corner, creeping down the hall toward the front room. 

A couple of candles in wall sconces provided the only light, and Ben took one down to better examine the documents spread out on the large table. Rogers’ men had captured a wealth of material and Ben flipped through it, searching for his missing correspondence. Many of the letters were damaged, their contents ruined by mud and rain. Some were spattered red with their couriers’ blood.

He turned up nothing, and he cursed silently. He had hoped this would be a quick retrieval, not an exhaustive search of Rogers’ headquarters. He returned his candle to its place on the wall and walked out into the hall, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The bedroom to his right proved empty of anything useful, and Ben turned the corner into the front room.

Rogers’ men had nearly destroyed the place; much of the furniture was broken and shoved against the wall. The fire in the hearth had burned low, coals glowing dull red. Several muskets leaned up against the far wall, and as Ben crept to the other side of the room, he could see a pile of captured equipment. 

He glanced out of the front window. The sentry on the porch was gone, his lantern shuttered. He could see no sign of Caleb. Ben took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart as he looked through the pile of stolen goods. Finally, after several long minutes, Ben came across his own saddlebags.

Digging through, he found his dispatch case, with his letters from Abe still safe inside. Relieved beyond measure, he slung the case over his shoulder and straightened, heading for the back door. A creaking floorboard was the only warning he got before a green-jacketed ranger stepped out from the shadows, his musket inches from Ben’s chest.

“Stop right there,” he hissed. 

Ben froze, hoping the darkness would cover his movement as he reached for his carbine. “Don’t, unless you want me to wake the whole house,” the ranger said, taking a step closer. The barrel of his musket brushed Ben’s coat.

Ben was debating his options when Caleb stepped out from his hiding place in the side hall. He pressed a finger to his lips, his boots silent on the floorboards. Caleb clamped a hand over the man’s mouth and his knife came up, catching to glow of the fireplace as it slid across his throat. Ben caught the ranger’s musket as he crumpled, sagging back into Caleb’s arms. Caleb lowered him to the floor.

“Did you find them?” Caleb whispered, eyeing the dispatch case.

“It’s all here,” Ben said. He looked down at the dining table, covered in stolen letters and reports. 

“Too bad we can’t take all of this back to Washington,” Caleb said, flicking through several maps. Ben took a candle down from the wall sconce.

“No, but we can make sure no one else sees it,” he said. Caleb’s eyes widened when realized what Ben intended to do.

“Spying, murder, and arson, all in one night, Benny?” 

“I had help,” Ben said, giving Caleb a pointed look.

“That’s right,” Caleb replied, grinning. He took down the other candle and touched it to the curtains.

Ben picked up a stolen letter and held it in the candle’s flame until it caught. He dropped it back on the table and the fire grew quickly, smoke rising to the ceiling. Ben stared at the flames, which had grown bright enough to illuminate the body in the front room. Caleb tugged his sleeve, pulling him toward the door.

“I think we’ve worn out our welcome, don’t you?” he asked. Ben nodded, and followed Caleb out of the house.

Ben didn’t close the back door when they left, smoke following them out into the night. Caleb rode hard back to camp, and when Ben turned to look behind them, the farmhouse was half- engulfed in flames.

 

Ben’s debriefing with Washington was mercifully short. Back in his tent, Ben spared a longing glance at his cot before reaching for the pail of cold water. Carefully, he scrubbed blood and dirt from his face, wincing as he brushed the cut on his temple. Despite his tiredness, he felt relief in place of the grinding anxiety that had dogged him since his troop had been ambushed. He still had much to do: meet with his officers and assess the state of his troop, finish drafting his full report for Washington, and finally, work on a better way to secure intelligence being passed through their chain of agents.

His thoughts were interrupted by Caleb striding into his tent and sinking into his chair.

“How’d it go with Washington?” Caleb asked. 

“As well as it could have, I suppose,” Ben said. “He did give me a formal reprimand for carrying unsecured intelligence.” 

Caleb winced. “Could have been worse, then.”

“This can’t happen again,” Ben said.

“Yeah, Abe’s already jumpy as it is. If he finds out what happened, he’s like to clam up completely, and then we have no spy ring,” Caleb said. 

“We need a cipher,” Ben said. He’d read about French diplomatic ciphers years ago in school. Perhaps their spy ring could employ something similar.

“Maybe you should ask Sackett if he’s got some invisible ink,” Caleb said, laughing. “Or tell Abe he’s going to have to use his own piss from now on.” Ben wrinkled his nose at the implication. 

“You can transcribe his letters then,” Ben said. 

“You’re the head of intelligence,” Caleb replied. 

“Yes, and I nearly got us all killed,” Ben said, his frayed temper snapping at last.

“You didn’t though. In fact, I’d say you not only recovered stolen intelligence, but struck an impressive tactical blow in the process,” Caleb said.

“Only after I was captured in an attack during which my troop was routed, and my horse and equipment were stolen,” Ben argued. 

Caleb’s chuckle startled Ben. “You did have a pretty bad day, didn’t you?”

Ben didn’t reply, instead pulling Abe’s letters from the dispatch case and spreading them out on his desk. His eyes fell to the name _Culper_ scrawled across the page in Abe’s messy hand. He wondered who had seen it, who now knew Washington had eyes on Long Island. He hoped the alias would be enough to protect Abe while he worked out a better system for transmitting information.

“Cheer up, Tallboy. Rogers is dead. How long has he been hunting you, eh?” Caleb asked, sensing Ben’s unhappiness.

“Too long,” Ben murmured. He wished he had taken a moment to check Rogers’ body, to assure himself that the man was truly dead. The damp weather had made the old wound in his shoulder ache, a permanent reminder of Robert Rogers and the troop of dragoons Ben had led into his trap. Ben pushed the memory away, not wanting dwell on dead men. 

Caleb stood, patting Ben’s shoulder as he headed out of the tent. “I don’t know about you, but I need some breakfast. You coming? I’m sure it will be terrible.” 

Ben shook his head. “I need to talk to Mr. Sackett about encryption, and I still owe Washington a full report. I’m already a day behind.”

“Suit yourself,” Caleb said. He was halfway out of the tent when Ben realized that in the turmoil of the past day he’d forgotten something important. 

“Caleb,” Ben said and Caleb turned, looking at him expectantly. “Thank you,” he said, meeting Caleb’s gaze. “For coming back for me.” Caleb’s grin was mostly hidden by his beard, but the corners of his eyes crinkled the way they always did when he truly smiled. Caleb pulled him into a hug, arms tight around Ben’s shoulders.

“Any time, Ben. We’ve lost enough family in this war already,” he said quietly. Ben felt more than heard the words, spoken against his shoulder. Caleb released him and pointed at the pile of letters on his writing desk.

“Are you going to tell Abe how I saved all our bacon?” he asked. 

“If I did, he’d never spy for me again. Maybe I’ll give him the abridged version, when the war’s over,” Ben said.

In the meantime, encryption would help prevent another near-disaster, and keep his agents concealed from unfriendly eyes. It was time to speak with Nathaniel Sackett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben’s 2nd Light Dragoons and attached infantry were ambushed by Banastre Tarleton’s British Legion and the Queen’s Rangers in 1779. Tallmadge escaped unharmed, but he was carrying papers from the Culper ring, which were stolen during the attack. This “unlucky accident,” as Washington called it, resulted in Tallmadge developing the Culper Code book used by the spy ring. This story technically fits in after Season 1, episode 6, if you turn your head and squint.

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the prompt "Ben being rescued" on the Turn meme, [here.](http://turn-kink.livejournal.com/799.html?thread=81183#t81183)


End file.
